


An Alternate Thread

by SkinIsCrawling



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: AU where nines is the brujah primogen, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Smut, and i guess gehenna isnt on its way either, and lacroix is less of a dumpster fire, and there's minimal backstabbing, but more of a series of connected snippets than a full story, many italics, multi-chapter, the actual plot happens offscreen lol, the everyone gets along and everything is fine au, the porn starts in chapter 3 if thats what youre here for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinIsCrawling/pseuds/SkinIsCrawling
Summary: In which the newly-established Prince LaCroix of Los Angeles attempts to navigate his station and city without getting killed one way or another. But more importantly than that - what is it, exactly, about his stubborn Brujah Primogen that captures his attention so?(you already know the answer. this is fanfiction)





	1. Chapter 1

He remembered clearly the night that he met Nines Rodriguez.

It had been a noteworthy evening for several reasons. Early into his reign as Prince, after claims had been freshly staked, initial plans had been crafted, and his Sheriff had beheaded several who had already attempted on his life. The dust would settle, of course, but in these initial nights, a current of furor and turmoil still ran throughout the air as he shifted hierarchies and wrenched an entire domain into a new shape. His first night with any real structure to it was a neverending onslaught of meetings, but he was more than happy to pay such a price to hold the city within his grasp.

All across America, Los Angeles had been _that_ city for some time now, the one that had been discussed with winces and raised brows as gossip spread of the increasingly disastrous state it was hurtling towards. Slipping from the Camarilla's grasp some years ago had left it a fragmented tangle of lesser factions striving for power. LaCroix knew that he was probably far from the first to consider claiming it, but most hadn't wanted to touch the pit, preferring to let it stew in its own blood. 

He had seen his chance, and he had snatched it.

It hadn't even taken long to be nested comfortably in the lofty heights of Venture Tower. In the scant pockets of time between attending his new domain, he found himself looking out of the grand windows to the city far, far below. The streets were a rain-slicked maze of grime and concrete, ridden with the unwashed, drunkards, even whores, but in his office he was surrounded by a familiar, comforting opulence, and the city was a glorious landscape of glittering light. How strange it felt, that what he was looking on was _his_ city... it would take some time for him to truly fathom that. 

He frowned - _yes_ , he told himself, _look upon this domain and know that it is yours_. He would have no hope at all if even _he_ were to doubt his Princedom - as if the many who outright refused to acknowledge him were not numerous enough. Hardly unexpected, but frustrating nonetheless... he knew that he was a little on the young side for a Prince, and at first he'd been proud of the fact, but now every sly, sideways glance upon him served as an uncomfortable reminder that he was surrounded by beasts who were still making up their mind as to whether or not he was their prey.

But he would not allow them to make Los Angeles his tomb.

The first step to securing the city was one that he was taking tonight: setting up the Primogen. He had kept the invitations for his council very open and inviting as a sign of good faith, mollifying the powerful and demonstrating that he would listen to the already established Kindred of the city - even allowing several representatives per clan, if the numbers demanded. His eyes flicked over to the grand clock against the wall, its soft ticking a pleasant rhythm against the chaos of the rain. 

The endeavouring Brujah Primogen would be meeting with him very soon, according to his schedule - but it seemed that unlike the other Primogen, he had not chosen to arrive early. A sign of defiance, perhaps, or a simple indifference towards etiquette. He could not help but wonder what kind of Kindred the Brujah would be - though the Second Revolt was in its death throes, its wake still ran through the city that had birthed it. He knew that not all Brujah were dysfunctional malcontents, but a certain wariness had crept upon him regardless.

The sudden noise of his office doors swinging open broke him from his thoughts, and striding through them was a man vastly different from the others he had met thus far that night. A broad, powerful frame shifted underneath weather-beaten clothes, with cold blue eyes set in a heavy brow, a sharply cut jawline sprayed with dark hair and a head tilted upwards just enough to push the line of brazeness. There was not a single fiber of hesitance in his being as he approached, reacting to the new Prince with audacious nonchalance.

LaCroix had seen his type before. He straightened his spine, drawing himself up to greet him. 

"So you're LaCroix, huh?" said the man in a clear, even tone before he could even get a word in. An American, he noted with little surprise.

"Prince LaCroix, if you would be so kind," he corrected. Petty, he knew, but he was not yet tired of the ring of his title. "And you must be Rodriguez." 

"Yup, Nines Rodriguez."

"Wonderful. Have a seat if you wish, though this should not take long."

"I'm fine standing," he said, folding his arms. Like that, was it? He narrowed his eyes as he approached the man with steady, controlled steps.

"Hm. So, unless I am sorely mistaken, I understand that the Brujah have put you forward as their Primogen."

"The ones on board with _having_ a Primogen did, at least." LaCroix inclined his head at him expectantly - this was the part where all of the other aspiring Primogen had sold themselves, listed their merits and strengths, and some had adulated sickeningly over his reign to come. But the Brujah offered nothing but a suspicious, assertive glare.

"I see. Well, Rodriguez, on that topic - I will not patronise you by dancing around the obvious." He paused tactfully. "I was not sure whether to expect a Brujah Primogen, in light of... recent circumstances. As you alluded to, I had assumed the vast majority of your clan to be uninterested in Camarilla representation. Might I ask your opinion on the matter?"

He smirked humourlessly. "You're asking why the big bad Brujah is in your office and not out there wrecking shit," he stated.

LaCroix bristled. Rather _droit au but_ , wasn't he? "Nothing of the sort. _However_ , if I was, what might your answer be?"

"That not all of us bought that crap, and some of us just want the best for this city." He hesitated, gaze shifting off to the side. "I mean, I won't bullshit you - I do think the Camarilla has a lot of problems. But something needs to happen around here and, hell, I'm willing to see how this turns out." Was there a hint of _amusement_ in his tone towards the end? 

"I'm glad to hear it..." he said uncertainly. Ought he bite the bait lain in front of him? Yes, he decided. "Though, might I ask, what 'problems' are you referring to?"

"Uh, partisanship, tyranny, corruption, lack of transparency, power imbalances... the usual, really."

"An opinionated man, are you?" he said, restraining his simper. LaCroix stepped closer still as the Brujah's eyes narrowed. The smell of LA clung to him - that combination of oil, alcohol and cigarettes that haunted the streets outside. Though Rodriguez held his tongue, he could still see that belligerence straining on his face.

"You could say that."

"And yet you're complacent with a foreign Prince taking control of this domain?" he pressed gently, lowering his voice.

He could see Nines' jaw clench, felt the heavy pause before the answer. "Why not work with someone willing to handle the bureaucracy?" he said, jarringly and unconvincingly facetious. Unsatisfied, LaCroix did not respond and did not break eye contact until he received a further answer. "Look, I know what you're implying. And I know full well that you could just be a power-grabbing snake here to make even more of a wreck... but if that's the case, I wanna know there's at least one Primogen with his head on straight when things go to shit."

He opened his mouth, dimly aghast. _Power-grabbing snake_ was far from the worst he'd heard, but the audacity of someone who was supposed to be his subordinate saying it to his face... he knew Kindred who would have had him killed for that. Los Angeles was quite different from the domains he had previously inhabited, it seemed. But he smoothed his face back into apathy - mere words meant little at this stage, without actions to back them. "I'm not sure I appreciate your tone," he said in a careful voice. 

The air was thick, and he was acutely aware of the other man's slight height over him. He had a body clearly built for destruction, with wide shoulders and sharp edges, dead veins running along the abundant sinew of his arms. Not that he felt threatened by such brutishness - mere observations. The silence was deafening, but he would absolutely not be the one to break it. Finally, Nines responded with a tight hint of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Sorry for any offense, _Prince LaCroix_ ," he said, his slow, flat tone teetering on the brink of derision but not quite tipping over. "Of course I'm a little wary of all this, but if you don't pull any shit, we'll get along just fine."

"I am the one who dictates the terms under which we 'get along'-" _Composure, Sebastian, there is no need for frivolous conflict just yet._ "Though I do understand your caution, I need to be able to have faith in my council - which I cannot, if they do not have faith in the Camarilla, and in myself."

Nines nodded steadily. "Yeah, I get that." But he still looked at him with those narrowed, searching eyes, as though he were weighing him up and deciding what to do with him. "And I'm not your enemy."

_How gracious of you to decide as such_ , he wanted to say. "Of course not," he actually said. Rodriguez was still stood rather close to him, enough that he could almost feel a raw heat roiling from his body - his imagination, of course, such things were an impossibility. His hands were rather large, he noticed, sturdy like the rest of the man, powerful and -

He looked away very suddenly from the Brujah, stepping over to his desk. Paperwork, yes, there was much of that - he could not, unfortunately, spend the entire night trying to establish dominance against this curious, willful creature. It had always been his instinct to do so with Kindred who held that brash, uncaring air that this Brujah did, some base urge pushing him to prove himself their better. 

"Let us save the political discourse for later, hm? There is much administration to be done."

Nines frowned. "Fine."

LaCroix's priority was the gathering of rather dry information, contacts and history within the domain and so on - though one would think he was being positively Orwellian from the look on Rodriguez's face. He still felt the stiffness of the atmosphere between them - and judging from the gaze boring ceaselessly into the back of the Brujah's head, so did his Sheriff. He found his attention catching on unremarkable details as they spoke - the pendant the man wore, resting against the strong tendons of his neck. How he occasionally rolled his shoulders back before speaking, as if trying to puff his chest up and make himself worth listening to. When LaCroix glanced at his clock he realised that far more time had elapsed than he had expected. 

"That was all, you are dismissed. Expect more in-depth contact with the finalised council later this week."

"Dismissed, huh? Yeah, see you around."

He noticed the astounding breadth of his back as he turned, and left. 

Not nearly as disastrous as that meeting could have been, he thought, but not perfect. Perhaps Nines would prove to be a strong voice that would keep the slightly less Camarilla-aligned happy, or perhaps he would simply serve as a firm wrench in his works. Time would tell whether he would need him replaced or not.

He was not sure why Rodriguez lingered in his thoughts - he pushed him aside and decided he would sit to greet the Tremere Regent. Now _this_ meeting was pivotal, a Chantry on his side could change everything. With a soft sigh, he lifted his head and relaxed his face more into the unreadable mask he would be wearing for the night, and for many nights to come.


	2. Chapter 2

There was blood all over him when he went to visit the Prince.

It hadn't been there long - some of it was dry, but some still shone sticky and bright. His own blood was still burning from the fight that had made this mess, though luckily, most of it was still inside his body.

There had been five of them, just another gang of idiot shovelheads with nothing better to do than start shit with the wrong guy. They hadn't taken long to dispose of, everything that they were soon burnt to ashes and washed away by the rain - but it did mean that now he was turning up to his regular meeting with the Prince looking like he'd just been rooting around in someone's guts. It would make some kind of point, he guessed, but he had the feeling that it wouldn't be one that would go down well.

The security guard frowned at him warily, opened his mouth to speak, but Nines let him know in a firm voice that he was there to see LaCroix, and he was on his way up soon enough.

The gleaming floor squeaked under his soles - even four months in, Nines still felt uncomfortable in the metal box crawling its way up a ridiculous number of floors. As he stepped out of the elevator, he felt the stares of the many who lingered around the Prince's office - cocky smirks and quiet murmurs from men and women in suits and pearls. That was the weird thing about Venture Tower - somehow, the Prince was not the worst Ventrue in the building. He headed straight for his office, ignoring the gaggles of sycophants and idle rich leering his way. It summed it all up damn well, the Camarilla culture that made him sick to his stomach, and he found himself questioning, as he often did, what the hell he'd stumbled into.

Becoming the Brujah Primogen had been the impulsive decision of a man grasping at any straws he could to fix the disaster of his city. His younger self, equal parts starry-eyed and burning with rage as he threw himself at the forefront of the Anarch revolt, would have probably spat on him for it. But years of having his faith destroyed as the movement crumbled, of watching the free state devolve into nothing more than a different kind of Jyhad until he was one of the most powerful of his pitiful clan presence remaining... it wore a guy down. Which brought him back to where he was - a tower full of smarmy Ventrue which he was just about jaded enough to put up with, a title that felt about as awkward and dirty as the blood dried up his arms, and a regular schedule of reporting to some new Prince.

Ah, the Prince. Prince _Sebastian LaCroix_. LaCroix was everything he'd expected; a prissy little European with a look on his face like he could smell something rotting. Arguments flowed naturally between the two of them, with Nines seeming to be the only Primogen willing to call out his or anyone's bullshit, but he couldn't say that he was planning on throwing him out one of his big glass windows just yet. LaCroix did at least pretend to listen to what he had to say before launching into disagreement, and he'd recently provided important support for a few members of his clan in a territory scrap with some encroaching Setites... Nines would begrudgingly admit gratitude and admiration for how he'd dealt with it.

Or, maybe he didn't hate him because of the way those eyes stared at him when he thought Nines wouldn't notice, and how his pouty, greyish lips were pretty when they weren't twisting into a sneer. 

He'd assumed he was sizing him up at first, as to be expected whenever two very different vampires were stuck in the same room together. But now he wondered if there was something... else in how his gaze roamed over him, in how he would stand a little closer to him than the other Primogen, the tension thick in the air unclear in its purpose. Not that it mattered, of course - thinking with your dick was pretty much the worst idea when it came to navigating vampiric society, so it wasn't worth pursuing.

He trudged up the last of the polished marble stairs, put his hands on the grand mahogany doors, and pushed them open.

LaCroix was stood, turning his head from his Sheriff towards him as he entered. He looked like he'd been talking with him, to Nines' mild surprise; he wasn't even sure the Sheriff _could_ talk. "Ah, Rodriguez, I have been -" He paused and blinked when he noticed the tacky, drying blood up his arms. "You look a mess, what on Earth happened?"

"It's not my blood."

"That's not what I asked."

"Just some Sabbat fuckheads a little south of here. They won't be a problem again."

LaCroix's face tensed. "How many?"

"Five, couldn't've been that old - tried to jump me just outside the metro."

"Ah." He saw his mouth tighten at that, a hint of a wince in his eyes. "I do hope you didn't make a spectacle of it."

_A fucking spectacle?_ He cocked his head. "What, was I supposed to just roll over and let them rip my limbs off? Don't think that would have been great for a _spectacle_ , either."

"Of _course_ I am not suggesting you neglect your self defense. And I am grateful that you are always capable of dealing with these matters efficiently. However, I can't help but observe that these kinds of... incidents seem to follow you - much more so than any of my other Primogen."

It was true, with the rising presence of the Sabbat, he'd found himself having to get his hands dirty more and more often these nights - but that was hardly his fault. "What are you implying?" He scoffed. "None of the other Primogen are based anywhere near the actual problem - there is a warehouse _full of those idiots_ , you know the one I mean. And if we just launched an attack-"

"Yes, yes, launch an attack and paint a target firmly upon all of our backs. You know my feelings on this matter."

And there it was again. The argument he'd had more times than he could count with this man.

LaCroix was tiptoeing around the Sabbat, had been his whole reign. They'd showed up around the same time as the Camarilla, another vulture there to pick what they could from the city's skeleton. At first, Nines had understood the Prince not wanting to stir the pot with the million other problems the city had, but the once-frail pack of monsters was growing, and quickly. He had seen the evidence first hand - hell, he had about a bucket's worth of evidence splattered all over him right now. 

Nines took a step closer, close enough to just about count as a breach of personal space. He liked how when he did that, LaCroix would always angle his head up, like looking him in the eye with enough intensity would negate the fact that Nines was a little taller.

"What, do you think the Sabbat will just leave us alone, if we leave them alone? Have you ever _met_ one of those assholes?" He gestured to the blood staining his shirt. "This is a problem."

"I'm no fool, of course I know what those beasts are like. However, I do not believe that the solution to this particular problem is to allow my Primogen to throw themselves at it."

He almost snarled at the smaller man - he didn't need to be _allowed_ to launch an attack... but he kept hold of himself. It was painful to admit that though, yeah, he didn't need permission, he did need support. He hadn't lost _all_ of his allies by _going Cammy_ , but there were definitely far fewer of them who would be willing to follow him into battle these nights, and there was no chance he'd get any Camarilla to join him without the Prince's word. Whilst he was a strong fighter, he wasn't suicidal.

He realised how close he was stood to the Prince, then, close enough that he was sure that anyone else would have been scolded for it. But he just stared at Nines without flinching, brows curving downwards ever so slightly. It was hardly the first time they'd stared each other down. He must have fed recently, because Nines could see just a hint of pink in his grey lips, a subtle warm tinge of blood imitating what he might have looked like when he was alive. The streetlight through the window caught on the Prince's fine cheekbones, and the golden tones of his hair were lit brightly next to his pale skin.

The silence became less bitter and more uncomfortable very suddenly - Nines could see that he wasn't the only one who felt that way from how LaCroix cocked his head back and glanced out the window, trying to hide behind smug aloofness how he broke off their eye contact. "Besides," he said, voice less severe, "admirable though I know your strength is, I'd rather you did not risk a horde of rabid Sabbat."

He smirked at the only slightly backhanded compliment. He was trying his best to diffuse the tension, he guessed. "Aw, you care?" asked Nines. LaCroix's eyes snapped to him once more.

"Well, I don't want my council dying avoidable deaths," he said tersely, an eyebrow raised. 

He caught his scent all of a sudden - fancy soap and cologne piled on thickly, but not quite managing to mask the weird undercurrent of blood and something cold that clung to most vampires. His jaw tensed. "I'd be fine," was all he could think to say. 

LaCroix exhaled and smiled with a distant, mocking edge. "Such bravado," he murmured. There his eyes went again, dipping down Nines' torso, running across his arms. They were close enough to be sharing the same breath, had either of them still breathed. LaCroix looked up at him again, grey eyes lidded.

Fuck this, it had gone on for long enough. He needed to know whether this weird little thing between them was the Ventrue wanting him, or wanting him dead. He brought his face inwards, brushed a hand against his sleeve. He could practically see the cogs behind those wide eyes spinning at breakneck speed as LaCroix's collected expression cracked into faint panic, or perhaps indecision.

He liked watching him fall apart like that.

He didn't let himself think about it too hard as he closed the distance between their lips - he had been right about feeding, the heady sting of blood still lingered on LaCroix's soft lips. For a few tense moments, the smaller man did nothing - but then, when he began to reciprocate, it was eager, bordering on frenzied. Nines smirked into his mouth - had he been waiting for something like this? He wrapped his arm around the other man's waist, considered shoving him up against the wall; if he was going to get shit for this, that ship had already sailed, so he figured he might as well go all out. His fingers traced along his clean-shaven jaw, back to run through his hair, and delved his tongue forwards to taste more of the enticing trace of blood in LaCroix's mouth. His hands wanted to wander further, across the smaller body that felt nice and firm underneath all of those layers, that fit against his surprisingly well - but he reminded himself that he was just trying to understand LaCroix intentions a little better, right? He pulled away, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

LaCroix still had that slight baffled panic on his face - but then, Nines saw the exact moment that life flickered back behind his eyes. He pushed his hands away, drew himself up, shoved an indignant look back onto his face. "Just what do you think you are doing?" he demanded, eyes alight as if he hadn't just thrust his tongue in Nines' mouth, too.

"You looked like you wanted it," he said bluntly. 

"I am your _Prince_!" he hissed

"Sorry if I misread," he replied. He wasn't gonna point fingers and dance around things, he hated that shit.

"You got Sabbat blood on my coat, too, disgusting..." he muttered, brushing away at a tiny splatter on his arm, his voice more weary than outright pissed. He placed a hand on top of Nines' where it rested on his hip to push it away, though Nines did not miss how his fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to. "I'd appreciate a little more decorum, Rodriguez."

Nines raised his eyebrows at the lack of threats, lectures, or even unambiguous rejection. His surprise only grew when LaCroix's face softened, and he spoke once more.

"To return to our _previous_ topic of conversation," he said, gathering his dignity back to where it had been and putting distance between them, "allow me to say that I do hear what you have been saying, and I understand your frustration. If you truly wish to do something about the recent Sabbat attacks-"

"I do," said Nines. 

"Then wait. These things take tact and time. Let us agree that if, a month from now, we are still having this conversation, then by all means I will provide my support and gushing approval for a full assault. But for now, just..." LaCroix looked up at him, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just trust in me, won't you? On this one, little thing."

Cold fingers caressed gently against his wrist.

Trust. It took quite some guts to be throwing that word around. But the compromise he offered was fair, as far as he could see. Later, Nines would realise he'd essentially seduced the Prince into diplomacy and feel the most disgusting he had in years, but in that moment he only noticed how LaCroix's smile came dangerously close to being sincere, and an odd, preternatural glow that flowed through his body and softened his vision. "Fine."

"Very good. Now that we have that folly out of the way, let's get on with why I actually brought you here."

LaCroix sauntered back to his desk, a new energy in the words he was spewing, unfettered by what had just occurred between the two of them. He was quick to divert the conversation to what he'd come to expect of these little meetings - questions about prominent clan members, reports of recent activity, clarifications of territory - all of it about as exciting as undead officialdom could be. Nines mentioned how he'd noticed more disinterest and dismissal towards the Prince rather than blatant hostility in his clan these nights, and the quick smile he was flashed in return caught his attention. 

The mood between them had gained something, something appealing and lively and, of course, Nines was acutely aware that it could be LaCroix jumping at a chance to manipulate him. But he wasn't bothered - he was no neonate, he could handle some jumped-up Ventrue, even a handsome one. He just let himself enjoy the sight of LaCroix without so much of a pompous sneer on his face.

"Ah," said the Prince suddenly, "we appear to be dangerously close to overrunning. But I believe we've covered everything important." Nines nodded. "Very well, you are dismissed."

Nines had gotten bored of giving witty retorts to being told to leave like that. "Sure," was all he said, ready to get out of the stuffy office and back to the streets.

He realised he hadn't felt true, chilling dread deep in his stomach until he turned and saw the way that LaCroix's Sheriff was glaring at him - Jesus, he'd forgotten that thing was there. He hurried past and, just as his hand was pushing the office door open, he heard LaCroix's voice once more.

"Be careful out there, Rodriguez," was all that he said in a voice that might have been fond or mocking. Nines spared the Prince one last glance but said nothing, shutting the door firmly behind him as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

The Toreador before him would not quiet. 

He knew the woman only vaguely - a haughty, powerful Kindred who had acknowledged him not so long ago, now asking permission to sire a childe in many flowery, dancing words. He saw the amused glint in her eye when she looked at him, as though she were privy to some joke he could not see, and the snideness in her smile as she listened to him speak. It was painfully clear that she approved his reign only in words, and he had no doubts that she would embrace whoever she wished regardless of what he had to say about it.

Well, he would not give her the chance to so flagrantly disrespect him. He granted her request with a dismissive sigh, and commanded her to leave. Though he didn't really need another low-generation neonate roaming his city, he needed another enemy and another execution even less.

He had bigger things to focus on in that moment than petty siring debates.

His slow stalemate with the Sabbat was winding on and on - he knew well the paranoia and violence of managing a domain, but no one ever spoke of the long, grueling, _frustrating_ side of warfare, the damned waiting. He had spent months gathering secrets on both the death cult and the Kuei Jin, given many attempts to covertly plant evidence, whisper suggestions and point scandalous fingers - he had hoped to turn their focuses to each other, use his foes as his sword so that he needn't strike at all. It was true that Sabbat attacks on the Camarilla had declined and skirmishes had ignited between the two, but it could have all been sheer coincidence. It was hard to tell, after scheming towards something for so long, whether he was finally seeing the beginnings of his victory, or if he was simply going mad. 

He could feel the weight of his Sheriff's gaze, and curtly ordered the Nagloper to stand outside - even _his_ eyes, in that moment, were too much upon him. He drummed his fingers across his desk, walked the length of his office, stood in front of his window, gazed at the grand paintings for nostalgic assuagement. He simply could not rid himself of the urge to _move_ these nights, his thoughts tearing through his whole body and rendering him restless.

Of course, contemplating his next move against the Sabbat did not distract him from what truly consumed him, the illicit information that weighed on his mind. He had heard it from the Nosferatu - he had kept them in his favour, paying them heed, granting them generous boons, handling any of their infractions with lenity. He held no love for the hideous clan, but they were useful little birds, trilling clandestine words in his ear.

The hulking shadow of a ship, the Elizabeth Dane, was making its way towards his city with a certain piece of cargo.

He had hoped word would not spread of it, but what good did hoping ever do? Buzzing rumours had already reached wide of the mysterious sarcophagus, dangerous whispers circling its impending arrival. Fantasy and superstition, of course, nothing worth wasting his time upon, and yet he felt such a compelling pull towards it. 

He had pictured, a thousand times, what might happen if it found itself in the wrong hands. He repeated to himself again and again that it was _nothing_ , nothing more than an old box for kine to marvel at, but on the off-chance, the small, miniscule, _preposterous_ chance that it was more... the Sabbat seizing it would be disastrous, that went without saying. The independent clans, too, could easily wrest control from him with such leverage. A chill ran down his spine as he wondered whether the Vampires of the East could perform diablerie. 

Strauss had offered to deal with it discretely and securely, and he truly wished things were that simple. The Regent had proven himself so far to be sensible enough, a strong pillar within their society, but he did notice the disdainful looks that he sometimes shot his way. Spikes of paranoia washed over him, images of being forced from his station by the elder, torn asunder by accursed blood magic and forgotten by next sunrise. 

And how was he to prevent such bedlam, if he did not intervene now? If, hypothetically, there _were_ something within the sarcophagus that could grant great power to any Kindred within the city, would that not make him the strongest contender to receive it? Amaranth was forbidden under the traditions, of course, but if he used it to stabilise the Camarilla's presence with renewed, inarguable might, then what harm would it truly be? The Sabbat diablerised openly, for God's sake, they were making fools of them all!

But then, perhaps, such laws were making the Camarilla grow old, and quickly. What new and wonderful things could be formed from its ashes, if he took this opportunity to spearhead a great change? A strange wind was carrying through the city these nights, and who knew what the future held - maybe squabbling over the scraps of a feeble, failing Sect was not what he should be wasting his time upon. Dangerous thoughts, he knew, but they latched into his head with fine, gripping claws, sending a so frustratingly distant, fevered _yearning_ throughout-

He hadn't noticed his head had dropped into his hands until his intercom buzzed and he snapped up to look at it. He very nearly told the next ancilla vying for a childe or complaining over some petty infraction to simply _go_ , but then he heard a name more familiar. Ah, yes, how had he forgotten it was time for his meeting with Rodriguez? He sat upon his sofa opposite the fireplace as he gathered his thoughts and self, grateful for the distraction. Nines had become an oddly comforting presence - a cocksure thorn in his side half the time, but refreshing in his authenticity. He was easy - easy to talk to, easy to read, easy to bicker with. LaCroix did not have to fret so much over daggers in his smiles, because Nines rarely bothered to smile at him at all. 

Unless, of course, that too was an act. Rodriguez could have simply been deceiving him in an unconventional way, with brusqueness and harsh words instead of sweetness. That would explain, too, the inappropriate direction that their relationship had taken those months ago, if despite his efforts, some schemer had found that his weakness did not lie in red lips and soft curves, but instead in-

In men rather like the one who had just swaggered through his office doors.

His swimming thoughts calmed, somewhat, looking at him. The straightness of his back, his fixed, steady gaze, all of him combining into something so unabashedly confident and unafraid to take up space. And how pathetic LaCroix was, finding relief in the fact - as though the world could not possibly be at risk of crashing down around him if Nines did not think it so.

"Oh, am I early or something?" he said as he spotted LaCroix on the sofa. Any other Primogen and he would have moved, but he wasn't going to pretend there was even a semblance of propriety between himself and the Brujah at this point.

"Not at all, Rodriguez. In fact, I have much to attend to, so if you would be so kind, let's get this done with."

Perhaps he'd been a little too brusque- the other man cocked an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment. "Alright," he replied, eyes unreadable. "I'm guessing you already heard about that shit with the hunter raid the other night..."

He nodded. Rodriguez stood before him, and again the conversation turned to domains, fluctuations of power, feuds and bloodshed, night after night after night. Rodriguez was growing more confident in LaCroix's reign after a particular trick (involving an easily framed Cathayan and copious amounts of arson) had dealt with the Sabbat nest near his territory, but the flow of complaints he brought to his attention still seemed nigh everlasting. At least he did not bring up the sarcophagus, as had every other Kindred that night, though it did not stop LaCroix's thoughts from wandering and twisting knots into his stomach. He held his head high as he listened, despite the great weight upon his shoulders.

But Nines saw through him, of course, it was obvious from the way that the Brujah looked at him. He sat next to him on the sofa, and the Prince made no move to stop him. "You're distracted," he said.

He smiled stonily. "Was it that obvious?"

Nines shrugged. "A little. Feels like everyone is."

He felt odd relief surge through him at those words, a reassurance that it wasn't just his own spiraling descent. "Yes," he said, perhaps a little too quickly, "things certainly have felt curious these recent nights, haven't they?" He barely noticed how he shifted closer to the Brujah, close enough that he could _feel_ the strength and energy that rolled off of him. 

"I guess," was Nines' simple reply.

He turned his head to face him properly, and the way that his eyebrows knit inwards suggested a great many thoughts within. But LaCroix would not force them from him - he had no great desire to listen to him speak anymore. He just let the other man reach out, run a hand through his hair to pull him in closer. He had grown used to their lips meeting at this point, acclimatised to the coarseness of Nines' jaw against his own, yet it was still a sensation that gripped him. Nines' hand continued to run through his hair, far more gentle than those rough fingers should have been capable of - was he trying to _comfort_ him? Did he think him _weak_? LaCroix grabbed the lapels of his disgusting blue overshirt and shoved him down against the arm of the settee. That twitching, buzzing was there again, through his limbs, but this time he directed it to grabbing Nines and feeling only his hands, his lips, inhaling the smell that he had once associated with the filth outside but that was now definitively _his_. He knew that this mania was most unbecoming, but he could not stop it.

When he pressed himself into Nines' lap he heard the other man groan against his lips, hands grabbing at the back of his coat - he soon realised it was because of how his thigh had slipped between Nines' legs, pressing against his hardening cock. Nines' fingers darted to the buttons on his jacket and lingered there in silent question, and LaCroix froze.

Coitus with a subordinate in his office was not really a point he could go back from, and one that he'd avoided thus far. Unnecessary involvement always brought unnecessary complication, but then, what was he if not _involved_ with the Brujah at this point? This was just the logical conclusion of all of those little moments, touches and rough kisses and fragments of conversation far more intimate than they had any right to be. 

Curse it all, he needed it, needed _this_ \- the strange combination of security and ardor he felt from Nines' touch. He needed to cling to this strand of humanity if only for a moment, before he would return to the world of the damned. He was Prince of this domain; it was his right to take such pleasures if he so wished, wasn't it? He placed a firm hand on Nines' shoulder, staring down at him.

"Any weapons - put them on the floor," he commanded.

Nines recoiled, lip twitching in appalled disbelief. "You think _this_ is how I'd try to kill you? I'm not a fucking-"

" _On the floor_."

He unbuttoned his jacket himself as Nines huffed and awkwardly divested himself of a gun, a knife and - were those _explosives_? They would discuss that later. LaCroix focused instead on running his hands down Nines' neck and torso. Arousal hit him suddenly when he pushed up his thin white shirt to expose his powerful, muscular stomach and chest, the dark trail of hairs leading downwards. Nines looked over him, too, in a way that excited him for what was to come, even though he had done nothing more than slip off his jacket.

"C'mere," he muttered, pulling LaCroix to sit fully in his lap as he kissed at his neck and nipped at his ear. He shivered and gasped as one of Nines' hands began to grope at him through his trousers, opening them with surprising deftness. He spread his fingers on Nines' chest, knotted them in the hair there, sighing as Nines began to pull at his cock. The pads of his fingers were much rougher than any other man he'd been with, and he had not expected that fact to make his hips roll or his toes curl. All the while, Nines looked upon him with greedy eyes. 

He could see the other man's arousal pressing taut against his jeans but was distracted, when he tried to finally get his hands on his cock, by how frantically Nines continued to rub at him. He realised suddenly how close he was to the edge - that would not do, not without Nines.

"Get off of me," he said sharply, batting Nines' hand away.

"What are you-"

"Just sit back."

His one hand pushed firmly onto one of Nines' broad shoulders, pinning him to the plush settee as the other withdrew his cock. Cut, as many younger Americans tended to be, and with a thickness that filled his hand satisfyingly. It felt good to loom over him for once as LaCroix intertwined their legs, took them both in hand and pressed their cocks together. The sudden slick friction elicited a groan, both from himself and the man before him - he adored watching Nines' jaw tense, his brow furrow as if concentrating, the powerful _tension_ that rippled through his strong body as he rocked against him. Nines' hips shifted until they were rutting against each other in a manner that he knew was not particularly dignified. It didn't matter. This needed to be over, and soon, so he would chase this hurried release in whatever way worked. 

Or, so he had thought, until Nines bent upwards to meet him, pulling their mouths together once more. He kissed him fiercely, lips moving in tandem with the upwards thrusts of his hips and one hand raking through his hair. He exhaled small, satisfied growls, teeth coming dangerously close to biting _too hard_ into his lips but never quite spilling blood. Neither of them were young and stupid enough for that. 

Nines moved his hand into the sticky mess between where their legs tangled, further down to stroke against his entrance, and his fingers were already slippery enough to press inside with ease. LaCroix spread his legs apart almost reflexively, hand dragging along both of them faster in anticipation. Nines was gentle - too gentle, fucking him with only one finger - he squeezed his cock tightly and shifted his hips harshly downwards until the Brujah got the point. One finger became two, and three before long, making him sigh at the wonderful fullness. The writhing closeness of their bodies and the frantic rhythm they had worked themselves into had him close to the edge, hips caught between the fingers grazing the spot deep inside of him and the friction of his cock rubbing against Nines'. 

And then, he felt it drop. He bit his lip to prevent from crying out, cock throbbing against Nines' as he finished. In the haze of it all, he found himself capable of noting little more than how beautiful Nines' abdominals looked splattered with his seed.

"Fuck," grunted Nines, following soon afterwards. He used his hand to work Nines through his orgasm, watching how the tautness pulled and released across his breathtaking body and, well, to ensure none of it got on his suit. He ran his thumb over the tip, pulled at the length, reached down to cup his sack - drawing it out because, admittedly, he did not want this distraction to end. Nines still held him as he pulled his hand away, wiped away evidence of what had happened, pulled his clothes back into place as LaCroix did the same. Without the sounds of sex, the room quieted coldly. 

The weight of what he had just done pressed upon him, as did the multitude of other burdens worming through his mind, returning with a sudden, slamming force. He knew he was ruined when Nines continued to hold him close, and he just leant into the touch. Just a few more moments, before he banished the Brujah into the night. But for now, arms around him... it kept him grounded. And keeping grounded kept him sane.

He sighed as he felt another kiss pressed to his neck, stubble scratching on his skin. Nines murmured into his ear in a rumbling voice, but it was not the meaningless nothings he expected.

"Y'know, I saw a diablerie once." 

His blood ran cold. "What? What are you-?" He stiffened but did not leave his embrace. His Sheriff would know if he was in danger, and Nines was only gripping him lightly - nonetheless, he felt a cold dread trickle through his body.

"Never heard a guy scream like that, it looked painful. Some dumb neonate got lucky, cornered a weak elder after someone had already burned him, pumped him full of lead," said Nines.

LaCroix looked at him with wide eyes. "Why are you telling me this?" he hissed.

"No reason, just... came to mind," he said in a pinched voice that suggested the exact opposite was true. "This neonate, he wasn't the greatest guy to start with, but whatever he was before was _not_ what he was after. He died that night, I guess. But then, the craziest thing happened. That screaming starting again, he was crying, he shot himself five times - trying to kill himself, I'm pretty sure." Nines leant in, close to his ear. "Some people said it was because the elder was _eating him from the inside-_ "

"Enough," he snarled. "You've made your point."

Nines drew back, regarded him evenly. "I like you, Sebastian. So don't pick this shitty hill to die on, yeah?" A shiver ran down his spine... Nines had not used his given name before. That was _low_ , truly low. He jerked away from him to stand, his every muscle taut with tension. 

"Get _out._ "

Nines did not say another word as he did so, and Sebastian did not look his way despite how he was of half a mind to reach out for him, to ask him not to leave. The door clicked shut. 

This had gone too far. To bare his throat so brazenly to his Primogen out of sentimentality, cowering and seeking refuge from his problems in such a pathetic way instead of taking the reigns of his own city. This idiotic weakness, this rotting stagnation - it ate away at him like maggots burrowing under his skin, he needed to _do something_. 

He needed his finest to seize that damned boat.

 

\---

 

 

For once, it was not raining. An unsettlingly warm breeze blew across the city on the night that the Elizabeth Dane was due to dock, one with a biting burn that LaCroix was not sure whether he was imagining - as though a hellish stranger were breathing down his neck. Heavy clouds billowed black across the sky, potent with an incoming storm, he was sure. And beneath the clouds was the vessel, crawling precariously over waters just beginning to churn.

LaCroix had taken the journey to monitor it himself, _just to make sure_ , from an inconspicuous spot upon the coastline. He still felt so very jittery for a corpse, guts twisting with doubt and mind racing with questions. Was he ruining himself? Was he setting himself up to fall? What if the whispers of an Antediluvian were correct, this could end up killing himself and everyone else - perhaps he could still stop what had been set in motion- but if it were true, they were likely all done for anyway-

He checked his watch for the seventh time in the last five minutes. 11:59... he looked seawards once more as it ticked over to midnight.

With a heavy, distant roar, the ocean's surface lit up a brilliant gold.

The explosion bloomed slowly, lazily, pale yellow fire fading into hues of amber and scarlet, until it finally choked out to black ash. Fat bulges of smoke lurched upwards, flaming debris streaming in their wakes. Could he hear the screams? Maybe, if he listened closely. Later, he would send someone to investigate the wreckage, to ensure that no one would ever have this wretched thing, and so that it could rest as a mere memory. For now he watched the fingers of flame spread further, as the might of all the resources he could gather combined into an infernal maelstrom.

He could just about see with it, dreams of ascension and transcendence disappearing into the night air along with the fading plumes of smoke. But he remained himself, his feet firmly grounded on the soil of Los Angeles as he watched the Ankaran Sarcophagus burn.


	4. Chapter 4

Nines hated LaCroix's haven.

It was even worse than his office, all gold leaf and unnecessarily huge paintings hanging ominously from paneled walls. For fuck's sake, the man had about thirty antique wine glasses to choose from even though blood tasted just the same straight out of a bag. He found himself staring at the canopy of the bed as he awoke, eyes following the intricate patterns as the cold blackness ebbed and colour seeped back into his vision. 

He'd been passing the occasional night in this Baroque hellhole for a few months now. After the dust had settled from all that weird shit with the ship and the strangeness in the city had turned back into the Los Angeles he knew, the Prince had pulled him aside and told him that their _inappropriate conduct_ during meetings had to stop... he guessed that the solution was to move it elsewhere, instead, and that he trusted him enough to invite him into his haven. Nine months ago, had anyone told him that the end result of trying out the Camarilla would be him warming the bed of some higher-up, he probably would have punched them right in the jaw.

Nines sat up slowly, stretching his limbs and rolling his cold joints. Sebastian's hand slipped limply from where it had been resting across his chest. He was still out cold - he always awoke a little later than Nines. Sleeping was the only time that the Ventrue didn't hold that unnatural cloud of charm and composure, the one that hung over him even when he was snarling down at someone. It was still hard to tell, with Sebastian, where the line between persona and self lay, so to see him looking so candid, so human, was something that continued to catch his eye. Nines was reassured that he still found him attractive at a time where he _probably_ couldn't be using his powers to fuck with his perception... but it did make him question what this was becoming.

It had started simple enough, as simple as something like this could be - he liked fucking LaCroix, LaCroix liked fucking him, and sitting in the Prince's chair with the aforementioned Prince's lips around his dick was one hell of a feeling. But now the awkward after-sex silences stretched on longer and longer, little fragments of non-acknowledgement leaking out of this room and into whenever he saw the man, clogging up the spaces between their usual disagreements. Nines sat back and sighed with one last glance at the pale, lifeless face beside him.

He should shower.

 

\--

 

When he reemerged, Sebastian was sat up and tapping at a laptop. Nothing new there - it seemed 90% of being the vampiric overlord of LA was checking and sending emails. 

"Mornin'," Nines grunted. In return he got nothing more than an acknowledging hum and a cursory glance, and Nines moved to open the curtains as Sebastian's eyes returned to the screen. LaCroix's haven was a penthouse, like his office, but further in the outskirts where he could see Los Angeles from a distance - Nines would admit that he liked the view.

"At least consider putting some clothes on if you're going to gawp out of my windows," were Sebastian's first words to him of the evening. 

Nines didn't bother replying - it wasn't like anyone could see him up here, anyway. He could see a storm lashing the city in the distance, looming towers dipped in black haze shot with bright flashes of lightning. Fat droplets of rain began to spatter on the window, but the storm itself was yet to reach them. It almost made him want to roll right back into that obnoxious four poster bed, but there had been some rumours in his territory involving wights which was almost certainly dramatics and bullshit, but still something he wanted to give a discrete look into. He sat on the sheets and picked up his shirt from where it lay crumpled across the bedstool.

"Anything interesting?" he asked Sebastian as he pulled his shirt on. He knew that the Prince was not going to share his every bit of intel, even with the guy whose tongue he'd had up his ass, but he did pass on intriguing things on occasion.

"No, no. You know how the Nosferatu can be, extortionate prices for almost exclusively information that any fledgling off the street could tell me. You've already heard the talk of that pack of wights, haven't you?"

"Yeah - I was gonna look at that shit tonight, actually."

"Well, of course I would appreciate hearing anything you find - I will call a blood hunt if anything more tangible comes in." He scrolled as he spoke. "And there was also the matter of - _oh_."

He paused, eyes widening, shifting himself to sit up more as he looked at the laptop.

"What?" asked Nines. 

 

"...Perhaps I should not share this - ah, you will most likely be hearing it within the week anyway." He looked at Nines with restrained fervour in his eyes. "The Archbishop is dead."

Nines cocked his head. "Huh. I mean, great. But I thought they were always killing each other, though, figured that kind of thing was business as usual."

"Well, yes, and I imagine that he will be replaced by some other lunatic savage before long." Sebastian paused, eyes racing as he skimmed the screen once more. "But he was killed by a _hunter_."

Nines blinked, surprised for only a second before he gave a sharp, brief laugh. He'd known that the Sabbat was wearing down, but that was just _embarrassing_. "Seriously?" 

"I'll need to have it further verified, of course, but this is a source that I trust." A rarely genuine smile was on LaCroix's face... he looked younger when he smiled. Made it easier for Nines to forget that he was fucking a guy about 130 years older than him. "And this could also be indicative of a previously underestimated hunter presence rather than the Sabbat's atrophy; that bears investigation..." He sat back and sighed, setting his laptop aside. "But by god, it would be a relief to stamp them out for good. I don't know whether to attack or just let the fools burn out on Kine and Cathayans. This is wonderful."

Nines voiced his vague agreement - he had the feeling they'd pop up again sooner or later, but LaCroix _had_ managed to weaken them to this pathetic point, so maybe it was one less thing to worry about. What little of LaCroix's tactics he'd seen were more underhanded than Nines could say he'd be comfortable with, but they were working. He could respect that. He looked over at the man intending to ask his next move, but paused as his eyes fell upon him. 

Sebastian had not raised himself to dress into one of his many near-identical suits, but had sat up and pushed aside the laptop and the sheets, looking at Nines intently. The dim light sharply defined the curves and ridges of the Ventrue's lithe musculature, his long legs and flat, toned stomach. The warm feeling that he'd come to recognise as presence washed over him, and he smirked. Sebastian was shameless. "You're happy about this, huh?"

"Why would I not be? This could be an important milestone in securing the city," replied Sebastian, pretending he didn't know exactly what Nines was referring to.

Nines had always assumed most high-up Camarilla would be the kinds of vampires who took pride in their total disinterest in sex, but whilst he didn't know about the rest of them, it was definitely not true of Sebastian. He could see the patch of hair, a shade of gold slightly darker than the hair on his head, surrounding the base of his cock just before the sheets covered him as if there was any decency to be preserved in the image. 

But what really gave it away was his face. The tilted jaw and lidded eyes flicking unsubtly over Nines' body, lips parted a bare fraction - a look that Nines had gotten to know well. The _someone I don't like just died and now I want to be fucked_ look. 

Well, Nines wasn't in a rush.

Pulled in by the allure of his powers and body, Nines climbed over to him, straddling his hips. Sebastian had the gall to look surprised, as if he hadn't planned this. He took his jaw in both hands and kissed him as another pleasant wave of warmth washed through his head, a deep, implacable, melodic hum drowning out any other noises.

"Why do you do that?" he murmured as their lips parted.

"Do what?"

"You know, that... mindfuck stuff. Sure, it feels good - but you do know I'll still fuck you without it, right?"

He saw LaCroix's eyes widen and he recoiled from Nines just a few inches. "You're imagining things," he snapped, though Nines felt his mind sharpen, a certain coldness and clarity returning quickly.

"Right," said Nines instead of pursuing it. They could argue for hours over the dumbest shit, and now wasn't the time for that. He brought him in for another kiss. Sebastian reciprocated, albeit with some hesitation.

"I absolutely must be in by 10, I was hoping earlier. Be quick," he said in a clipped voice usually reserved for their meetings.

"We have time."

"Perhaps _you_ do."

Fuck, Nines hated when he did this before sex - acted like this was some chore that he was giving him the honour of indulging. He wasn't fooling Nines, and he doubted he was fooling himself. "You started this; I've got places to be, too," said Nines firmly, brow furrowing. He pulled away - with more reluctance than he would admit - but Sebastian's hand shot out to his shoulder.

"No, I... stay," he said. He had a feeling he'd say that.

"Good," replied Nines, pulling the sheets back so that he could feel him pressed up against him. He hadn't gotten far in getting dressed; Sebastian pulled his white shirt over his head and it was back to square one. Not that he minded - the intense way that Sebastian would grope over his exposed body always amused Nines, all of his precious _decorum_ forgotten when he was pinned under him.

Nines pulled the sheets aside to feel all across his body, grabbing his half-hard dick snugly in his hand and giving it a few slow strokes. Sebastian exhaled into his mouth and pushed him upwards, practically launching himself into Nines' lap and kissing down his jaw, sucking on his neck.

He ran his fingers through Sebastian's hair and pulled him harshly back by a fistful - it had been a good night a few weeks ago when Nines had discovered how much he liked that. "You wanna make this quick? Then turn around for me," he growled in his ear.

"Giving me commands in my own haven, Rodriguez?" said Sebastian, though his smirk was amused and he didn't miss how his eyes lit up before he did, as requested, turn around for him.

"You love it."

The lines of LaCroix's back pulled and flexed as he leant forward expectantly. And, whilst Nines hadn't been lying about the position being efficient, with both of them getting off fastest from behind, he hadn't mentioned how he craved the great view of his ass it provided. With a quick grab of the near-empty lube bottle from the nightstand, his fingers were slipping up inside him in no time, eased by the fact that he was still a little loose from the night before.

The Prince bared back onto him, grinding Nines' cock against his lower back as he fingered him open. "On with it," he murmured. Nines wrapped a hand around one sculpted hip to guide his cock to the welcoming hole, humming lowly at the way his spine arched to greet him. He'd heard of how the Ventrue could brainwash someone, remake their mind without even needing to touch blood bonds, and he couldn't help but wonder if that had happened to him because he swore _nothing_ felt as good as sinking his dick inside this man. 

"Mm, Sebastian," he uttered. He loved the power of saying his name in his ear whilst he did this, stations and titles rendered void for the space of time where Nines was fucking him boneless. But then, there was the time that he'd mockingly called him _Prince LaCroix_ in bed, and he was pretty sure the weirdo had gotten off on it. The only response that he got was a low, throaty groan as he sped up, hands on his pale hips as he slammed into him.

Sebastian leant backwards suddenly, forcing Nines to sit back as he knelt, forcing himself down onto his dick. Nines had no issue sitting back and letting him do the work, watching where his cock disappeared into his shiny, stretched rim as he fucked himself with enthusiasm. Damn, he'd murder the next Archbishop with his bare hands if it put LaCroix in a mood like this. 

The powerful slide up and down his shaft was getting to him - but not just him, at least, judging from Sebastian's increasingly loud whines and erratic hip movements. Nines pulled him backwards, Sebastian sat with his back to his chest, their skin sliding together frantically."You close?" he rasped, pressing kisses to his neck. It would feel so fucking good to bite him - he could barely resist it.

Sebastian nodded desperately, before he reached behind himself to grab Nines' hair, craned his head around and brought their lips together. Their tongues met sloppily as he reached around to tug rapidly at Sebastian's cock. With a full-body shudder and a gasp muffled into Nines' mouth, he felt Sebastian come - he always got so fucking _tight_ when he did, dragging along the length of Nines' cock amazingly, making him shoot deep inside of him not long after. 

Neither of them wanted to be the first to break away, it seemed - their limbs wrapped around each other and their lips did not break even as Nines' cock slipped out of Sebastian. In fact, the smaller man turned to lean a little against Nines, shifting to make himself confortable between his legs. 

And there was that silence again. Nines had never been a big pillow-talker, he couldn't stand filling up the air with unnecessary words - but he felt like there was _something_ to be said. He just didn't know what.

"I hope you know I never intended to become the kind of Prince who spends his nights sleeping with his Primogen," huffed LaCroix quietly before he could give it much thought, though he did not move from Nines' embrace. Sebastian always alternated, after sex, between jerking frigidly away from any touch to his skin or getting his hands over Nines as though starved for the contact. 

"At least it's just one of them." His fingers rubbed small circles on Sebastian's shoulder. "I assume," he added.

"Oh, you mean aside from sucking off Strauss last week?" he replied witheringly, to which Nines gave a small laugh. "What time is it?" he murmured, craning over Nines to look at the clock on the bedside table.

"Not even 8 yet. What are you in such a hurry for?"

"I've a meeting with Grout later, and I have _much_ to attempt to discuss - I don't want to miss it on the off-chance he decides to show up several hours early. I have a feeling it will occupy most of my night."

Nines frowned - he'd seen the Malkavian Primogen only a few times. He rarely spoke in meetings with the whole council, just stood there with an intense and eerie stare. "What do you even talk about with that guy?"

Sebastian groaned. "On occasion, it is a fruitful discussion about the status of his clan and their territories, as well as any concerns either of us might have, similar to our own meetings. Far too often, however, he's been absorbed in paranoid ramblings, if he even bothers to show up." He sighed. "He's become obsessed, recently, with finding a _cure_. Ludicrous man."

"A cure?"

"For our... shared condition."

"Huh. Is that even possible?"

"Probably not, I neither know nor care. Why anyone would pursue it is beyond me."

He tipped his head back, traced his eyes over the canopy again. "...I dunno," said Nines softly. "Don't you wonder where you'd be right now, if it wasn't for all _this_ shit?"

"I would be dust collecting upon bones, as would all of those who had ever known me. I do not see why I would be better off like that."

Nines rolled his eyes. "You know that's not my point. Yeah, immortality's great and all - but you've seen what some of us turn into without even realising it. We're stuck in a fucked up world trying to be the least fucked up thing out there." The words were coming before he realised it, half-formed thoughts he usually had just before torpor that he'd never planned on sharing. "I can see why someone would wanna try living again."

"Yes, yes, _I am a stranger amongst those who are still men_ and all of that nonsense. Really, of all the solutions for mental sickness, relinquishing immortality and embracing decrepitude _just to feel something again_ must be one of the more preposterous ones I've heard."

Nines had a _lot_ of things to say to that. He was accosted, suddenly, with memories of his first few nights, when he had first become horribly aware of the difference between living and existing - living didn't have that great, cold emptiness inside of it. Living didn't push you to latch onto any purpose you could find, or make you question if you had any right to exist anywhere anymore after you'd lost things you didn't even think you _could_ lose.

But instead, a single question jumped to the forefront of his mind. 

"Did you choose this?"

Sebastian opened his mouth and looked at Nines, nonplussed. "Did I choose to be embraced?" he asked with a hushed voice.

Nines nodded. "Mm. 'Cause I sure as hell didn't. Don't think my sire chose it, either- pretty sure I was an overfeeding someone felt guilty about."

"Did you not know your sire?" 

"Nah. First few nights were confusing as hell," he laughed, coldly and without humour. "Thank god there were plenty of my clan around. Back in the free state, Anarch movement in full swing, all that." 

"Ah. Of course." Sebastian frowned at him. "I distinctly recall you saying you 'never bought' such things."

"Yeah, I might have downplayed a little. What was I meant to tell the new Prince, that I spent my first years embraced giving his Sect the finger any way I could?"

Sebastian sighed, eyes flickering down to run a thumb over his wrist. "I suspected as much, anyway. And now you are one of the finest on my council." He cocked his head. "Am I to expect a dramatic betrayal any time soon?"

"Not as long as you don't do anything really stupid." Nines sighed. "I'm not even sure a real free state is possible anymore, anyway. I... wanted change, but I think I was the only one who really did, to be honest. Almost every Anarch who sold it to me fucked right off the moment things got ugly with the Kuei Jin, the ones that didn't broke off into gangs. Barely any better than the elders they spent their nights bitching about. I saw some real shit, and it was the powerless who suffered, same as always - 'free state' or not." He turned and smirked at LaCroix. "Things even got bad enough I was willing to hedge my bets on the pretentious Camarilla guy who showed up out of nowhere insisting the city was his."

"Hm." LaCroix looked at him thoughtfully, and said nothing for a time, until finally: "I didn't choose this, to answer your earlier question. I doubt I would regret it if I had, but it was not my decision."

Nines cocked an eyebrow. "I heard you types are all... snobby about who they pick. Trained to be up to standard beforehand and all that. You weren't?"

"Not particularly," replied Sebastian, voice a little quieter. His hand tightened just a fraction on Nines' wrist. "My sire, he- well, he always told me that he didn't mean to embrace me, that I was a mistake, but I don't know if that was actually true. He lied often, and with blood bonding, domination, all of that, I didn't ever realise until after his final death."

Nines stared at him wordlessly, unsure as to what exactly he was being told here - Sebastian continued talking anyway.

"He died very suddenly; there were many words left unsaid." He smiled sadly, eyes fixed on nothingness. "...and it will forever haunt me that I was not the one to slit his fucking throat."

Nines said nothing - he wasn't the kind of guy to talk about this kind of stuff. Neither was Sebastian, usually. When the quiet stretched on towards awkward territory, Sebastian shook his head. "Apologies, I didn't mean to bemoan you a man who has long been ash." He pushed himself up. "Now I really _must_ be going, and I imagine the same is true for you-"

Nines pulled Sebastian back down, pushing their lips together, hooking an arm around his back as he held him close and kissed him. He knew that both of their bodies were cold, but the space between them didn't feel that way.

He pulled away shortly afterwards, and they dressed once more in near-silence, but it was... different than before. Comfortable, even. When they stood outside the grand apartment building just before they'd go their separate ways, streetlights shining in the rain and a soft breeze blowing over his skin, Sebastian smiled at him faintly.

"Until next time, Rodriguez," he said. "Now go. Seize the night."

Nines smirked. "Yeah, think I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andrei bby im sorry


	5. Chapter 5

For once, LaCroix's night finished early. 

It was an evening he would have usually ended with his meeting with Nines, but the Brujah had had some supposedly sensitive clan business to attend to out of town for the week that LaCroix, lenient fool that he was, had not pried into. Left with only minor administration that he could deal with from his haven, combined with the odd fact that he had been rising earlier these recent nights, meant that he retreated from the city only a few hours after midnight, confident that pandemonium would not break out because of one early night.

He was wary of the controlled, slow air that had descended over Los Angeles recently, unsure whether it was the fruits of his labour or the calm before a storm, but he was also somewhat grateful. And so, he sat in his haven's lounge, favourite antique wine glass in hand - the Russian one, 17th century - and gave his emails one last check.

As security had fallen over the city, power stabilised as much as it could amongst Kindred, and he settled not into trusting, but into _knowing_ those around him, he had loosened his grip ever so slightly. He could delegate more freely, needing to micromanage only the truly incompetent, and found that granting at least the illusion of fairness and relative freedom whilst maintaining order had pushed more Kindred to acknowledge him. Not everyone, but enough.

There was one individual whose correspondence he'd been putting off replying to: Ming Xiao.

After the Archbishop's death, the Sabbat had only grown more violent and more foolish under new and unstable leadership. A few Camarilla had been victims to reignited attacks here and there, but his previous sabotage had ensured that the Sect had truly latched onto the Kuei Jin with all its dwindling might, dealing the Vampires of the East a strong blow before the chapter's strength failed completely. As more powerful Kindred drifted to his side, Sebastian had fully endorsed several of his associates tightening and reestablishing their domains and territories around areas that had once unofficially belonged to the Kuei Jin, never crossing into outright warfare but providing a quiet reminder of how the Camarilla's strength waxed whilst the Kuei Jin's waned. And it had worked - the evidence flashed before him on his laptop screen, in the form of Xiao's discomfortingly polite request for some kind of agreement.

It was the ideal time to strike, but the question was _how_ ; on the one hand, he could work out some kind of treaty that leant heavily in his own favour... a _nice_ way of going about things, to be sure, but it would most likely be a matter of _when_ , not _if_ it would be betrayed - assuming the whole thing was not a trap to begin with. Alternatively, he could poke their strength just a fraction more to determine whether a heavy assault would finish them for good and, if that was the case, have his Sheriff bring him Xiao's head and raze that damned temple to the ground. He had learned well, in his reign as Prince, the careful art of execution - how to balance the line between making a point and making a martyr, when to show strength and when to show mercy. Thus, he knew that the Kuei Jin would be an easy order to call; few would miss the loathsome creatures, and with their deeply ingrained disregard for the Masquerade, destroying them would also be seen as the responsible option. _He_ certainly wanted them gone. And yet...

Some long-forgotten, oddly nostalgic instinct had resurfaced... a strange hesitance to call for yet more death.

He sighed, took another piquant sip from his glass and shut his laptop. He would kill the vile woman if he needed to, but it was a decision for another time - Xiao could stew in suspense for a little longer. Maybe with the last hours of this evening he would finally start that book he had been meaning to read for about half a century.

His doorbell sounded. Apparently not, he thought wearily as he got to his feet.

"Yes, who is this?" he asked, voice snippy.

"Me," came the voice of Nines Rodriguez in return.

"Oh. I had thought you were returning tomorrow evening." 

"I made good distance, got shit done. Nice to see you too. You gonna let me up?"

_No_ , he should have said, and sent Nines to his own haven rather than lounging the night in his own on a whim again. But he hadn't realised quite how different things would be with the other man gone, even just for a week - and he hadn't even noticed it until he felt the rush that hearing his voice brought on.

"Very well."

Nines was not in the worst state he'd seen him, as he stepped through his door, but not the best, either. He had foregone that dreadful overshirt for once, and his white sleeveless shirt looked somewhat... singed. A small smatter of dried blood flecked one of his sides, and he could smell the metal and heat of gunfire upon him. "I must continue to object to your frighteningly fast-growing habit of showing up unannounced. I do have things to attend to other than you, you are aware?" he said, though not without a trace of fondness.

"Yeah, yeah, you've told me that before. Still think it's bullshit."

He sat down, legs wide, splayed next to Sebastian on his sofa. Nines then reached over for the delicate glass of blood that he had been sipping and savouring for the evening, and downed it in one gulp.

"So. Did the city burn down while I was gone?"

"Not as far as I am aware, no. All is rather quiet, actually."

"Good to hear." Without any particular further warning, Nines leant in and kissed him on the jaw, and despite how the smell of smoke and the outdoors clung to him, LaCroix leaned into the touch. Physicality had always been the foundation and crux of their relationship, a fact that made itself known as Nines' hands dragged over him, pulling him in to kiss him deeply and run a hand over his thigh. The Brujah struggled greatly to keep his hands to himself, and that was what made him the perfect distraction.

The only issue with that was how not even he believed that this was a mere physical distraction anymore.

"And what about you?" asked Sebastian when Nines was no longer assaulting him. "Are you going to tell me the thrilling story behind all of this?" He gestured to his somewhat tattered clothes.

"Fuck, I don't wanna talk about all that right now. Don't wanna _think_ about all that right now - it's been a long night." He planted his lips firmly onto his neck once more. "Just... talk sexy to me in French or something."

He laughed softly. " _Tu me manquais_."

"... right. You gonna tell me what that means?"

"Oh, it's far too filthy for me to repeat."

He smirked. "Whatever you say," he said, before their mouths met yet again.

There was a certain ferocity in Nines' lips, an edge to them as his hands wandered with sharp, fervent grabs. He was feeling the desperation, too - had it really been but a week? He had become accustomed to human contact once more, it seemed, and was now craving it - perhaps there was shame to be found in that very Kine-esque fact, but it did not register in his mind.

Nines moved to his throat and he exhaled contentedly, sucking at his skin with just enough tooth to have him weak at the intoxicating sensation. He hooked a hand around his back, pulled him in encouragingly, wordlessly demanding _more_.

Instead, Nines pulled back to look at him. There was something vicious, feral, _bestial_ in his blue eyes. He dove back in to scrape the sharp edges of his fangs across his neck, resting them on his throat with the barest hint of pressure.

"What if we..."

He froze at the implied question.

"Nines, that's-!"

He bit at him again, still not piercing him but rather teasing him on that edge. It was almost cruel, at this point. It was true that he had been struggling greatly with the desire to bite Nines and have debauched, vitae-drenched sex - even gorging himself on the finest blood available before meeting him didn't kill the urge anymore. It was unsurprising that Nines felt the same. 

"You are aware of the... complications, of something like that?" he gasped out, clinging to what rational mind he had left when Nines grasped his leg with a broad hand.

"Of course, I'm not an idiot. I won't if you won't. But just _once,_ that'll be fine, right?" His voice was rough with desire.

Just once would still have a considerable impact. Once could become twice, which could become thrice, and before long they would be lost to a blood bond. He had not been on the receiving end of a blood bond since he'd been at the beck and call of a man who could have shot him through the skull and convinced him it was for his own good. Could have had him thank him for it.

But Nines was not that man.

"Just once," he affirmed, and Nines nodded eagerly. He kissed his neck once more, running his tongue over the perfect spot with predatory precision. "Are you certain?"

"Are you?"

"... _do it_."

His toes curled as Nines bit into his throat, the unique and irreplaceable pleasure of being fed upon blooming through his body. Nines clamped his jaws around him with overwhelming strength as he held him in place, rough hands against his shoulder, hard, broad chest against his and his knee grinding against his rapidly hardening cock. 

Nines withdrew for only a split-second and he lunged, pushing Nines back to straddle him as he sunk his teeth into his thick, stubbled neck with little finesse or delicacy, driven by febrile want. The Brujah tasted like no other - but then, would he have expected any differently? Dead blood was sweeter than the blood of the living, and the Brujah's held an alluring burn to it that he swallowed down ardently. The vitae ran like a shining ribbon down Nines' throat that he followed with his tongue, hand reaching between his legs to squeeze at Nines' thick, hard cock where it pressed up against the rough denim.

The throaty noise he got in response was telling indeed, as was the way Nines gracelessly shoved his jeans down to expose his solid thighs and prick leaking with need. He smirked but said nothing as he traced his hands lower, slipping off of the sofa and kneeling between Nines' legs. When he glanced up at the other man, he was frowning at him as if in wonder, lips parted to reveal a sliver of red-stained tooth and tongue. But it was not to last - he threw his head back and moaned, long and low, as Sebastian took him into his mouth.

The frenzy that buzzed through both of them made for a fervid pace as Sebastian slid his lips around him, his tongue laving over areas that he knew he liked and coaxing Nines to thrust up and deep into his throat. He bit at the tough flesh of his thigh, filled his mouth up with blood once more, parted his lips to spill it over his cock and lick it back off. He was not sure whether he had more saliva, blood or precome smeared over his face, but he barely even took note of such filth.

A hand brushed Sebastian's cheek in what he had assumed was a gesture of sickening sentimentality, until it pushed him away. He looked up at Nines questioningly - he'd been rather enjoying himself.

"How about you top tonight?" growled Nines. Sebastian's surprise must have shown on his face, because Nines quickly followed it up with a somewhat defensive shrug. "I'm tired."

"But of course," replied Sebastian with a pleased leer. Things had always been the other way around simply because it fit both of their preferences, but that was not to say that the idea was without its appeal. Quite the opposite, in fact. Sebastian licked down Nines' bloody cock once more, running his fingers down the length of it as he traced the head with his tongue, drifted his fingers over his sack and further downwards still. Ah, but the lubricant was still in the bedroom. Perhaps there was enough blood to... no, no, he'd learned what a terrible idea that was many years ago.

As if reading his mind, Nines reached down and gave him a small tube from one of his jean pocket. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "An enjoyable trip, then?" he asked, voice only slightly colder than he'd intended.

"I remembered we were running out and figured it would be handy," he said, defensive. "I haven't been fucking around with anyone else, if that's what you're getting at. Haven't since this all started."

Sebastian felt a weight he had not realised was there, lifting from his shoulders; even though they had never formally agreed on any sort of exclusivity, it was what felt right. When he thumbed over the cap of the bottle, he found it was sealed, smothering the sudden and unexpected flame of jealousy. "Neither have I," he replied. "Not that I'd have the time to." _And not that any other man in this city could be quite like you._

What maudlin thoughts Nines' blood was forcing upon him - he wet his fingers and sucked up his cock again to distract himself. On either side of him, those firm thighs spread and twitched enticingly, thew rippling under thick hair.

He slipped one thin finger inside and, at the same time, swallowed Nines down to the root.

" _God_..." gasped Nines with a buck of his hips. He might have smirked, had his mouth not been quite occupied. He had taken the active role with one or two gruff, rugged types in his time, and in his experience they always excited themselves over very little, wonderfully responsive and sensitive to even just the first few fingers. He enjoyed Nines' soft groans as he slid another finger inwards and dragged his lips back up his cock, his hips thrusting upwards suddenly when he pressed just so.

"Right there, goddamn - c'mere-" Nines pulled him off of his cock by his hair and tugged him to his mouth, their tongues meeting messily with the rich taste of vitae still strong as his fingers pumped in a steady rhythm. His cock ached terribly in anticipation of being buried inside of Nines.

The Brujah nipped at his lip as they parted. "Come on. Fuck me." Nines' pupils were blown wide as he looked upon Sebastian as if he were to _devour_ him and, honestly, he would have allowed it.

"If you insist," he said, his own voice far more frayed than he'd expected. He could not help but stare at the man spread below him as he lined himself up. His eyes were drawn to the gully between his abdominals lined with thickly trailing hair, how the ridges along his ribcage flexed as he pushed his cock into the tight, slick grasp of his body and began an even rhythm. Strength rendered pliant, in the most pleasing way imaginable. _Mine_ , he wanted to murmur, but on second thought, that was not it.

No, he was fueled to fuck Nines because he _wasn't_ his, because he was a willful beast who would never quite break. Even with Sebastian inside of him and his teeth red with his vitae, his eyes still held that titillatingly defiant spark. He ran a hand down his cheek, over a rough lip huffing out throaty groans quickly growing in volume.

"Oh, but you do enjoy yourself. How long have you wanted this, I wonder..." he murmured.

"Ha. That all you got?" gritted out Nines in response.

And so, he snapped his hips at him as deep and hard as he could. He knew that he was no Brujah, but that was not to say he was _powerless_ \- and it seemed that Nines was realising the fact most thoroughly. He managed to wring the loudest moan he had ever heard from him as he gave a particular angle to his thrusts - the grasp around him was most pleasing, Rodriguez was taking him so _perfectly_. Nines' thick cock oozed in vulgar quantities and his legs tightened around Sebastian's waist as he swore under his breath - he must have been close. And thank god for that, because Sebastian was not sure how long he was going to last. Nines wrapped a hand around his own cock and Sebastian had no objections, slamming into him unyieldingly.

"That's it, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ -!"

Nines pinched his eyes shut and clasped his hand tightly onto his waist as he climaxed, spasming around him in such a way that had him gasping, not far behind Nines at all. Sebastian found few pleasures greater than being thoroughly filled with another's seed after a rough fuck, but he knew such a sentiment was not universal - and so he pulled out of Nines, stroked his cock once, twice, and finished with a groan. It spilled onto Nines' spent cock, and into the thicket of hair surrounding it, mingling with the Brujah's release - there was something so utterly obscene about the image that enraptured him. 

His legs gave easily when Nines pulled him inwards, power and precision having left his body in favour of dazed satisfaction. He found himself kissing Nines lazily as a veritable array of bodily fluids dried between them. His throat burned with the other man's vitae as it now flowed through his veins... ah, what gloriously irresponsible hedonism. He had earned it.

"Maybe I ought make you my seneschal," he murmured, half-delirious on well sated ecstasy. "My reign has been woefully lacking in nepotism."

Nines opened one eye to look down at him where he lay under his arm. "Isn't that just giving me the shit parts of your job?"

He smiled. "That, and putting you in the line of succession. I don't suppose you're interested in murdering me for my Princedom?"

"Yeah, think I'd rather throw myself out of a thirty story window than make myself Prince, thanks." He pushed a fallen strand of hair from Sebastian's forehead on reflex - Sebastian no longer flinched at Nines' powerful hands so close to his face. "Then again, I probably said the same about being Primogen at some point, so fuck, who knows what kind of Cammy scum I'll be a year from now. Ask me then, if we're both still alive."

"I think you'll find neither of us are alive."

"Fuck off, Sebastian, you know what I meant." But his tone carried an affection to it that suggested Nines did not at all want Sebastian to, as he so crassly put it, _fuck off_. He lay with Nines in content silence, fingertips resting where his heart would have once beat. When he glanced back up, he saw Nines gazing at him with eyes somewhere between awe and confusion.

"Damn. Sorry, this is... intense. I'd heard it was, but..."

"Ah, of course - if you never knew your sire, you've never felt this before, have you?" 

Nines shook his head, and quiet fell once more. This was not the first time he'd been in this situation - in the past, he had outright broken many men using blood bonds. But it was the first time it had stirred such discomfort in his gut... he had almost forgotten what guilt felt like.

"That fact didn't occur to me," he said finally. "It will fade in time, provided we don't repeat this... My apologies. If you regret it, that is."

"I don't."

He said nothing, only lay his head down onto Nines' shoulder.

The sun would be rising soon, he knew, and after that would be yet another night. Even in times of peace, there was always some feud to disentangle, some territory to claim, and some shadowy figure out for the Prince's blood - such was the nature of their society. 

But tomorrow would be another night that he would gladly rise to greet, and he would greet it with another by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they moved to switzerland or smth before LA inevitably went to shit again
> 
> hooooo that story took a while. dont know how u authors who pump out like 200k+ words do it. anyway thanks for reading :)


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